


Almost

by Marquise



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Control, F/M, PWP, Restraint, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 10:29:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1069410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marquise/pseuds/Marquise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pretty much just power games masquerading as porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ocularis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ocularis/gifts).



“Look at you. You enjoy this, don’t you?” 

She did. Shamefully and yet not—her shame was disappearing by the day. Yes, there was no sense in lying—she very much did.

Sansa was bent over his desk, hands gripping the edge tight. Naked save for her stockings, her legs were spread, her red bottom framing an utterly drenched core. Petyr had his hand on the swollen flesh, soothing where he has just corrected her, his fingers appraising her soaked slit. Teasing her, not nearly giving her what she wanted. 

They had gone to the edge so many times, without taking that final step. He would pleasure her with his fingers, reward her for her good behavior. She would work him over with her hand, lips close to his, breathing the same breath. They would reach their climax but yet there was so much more that could be done. So much more that she wanted.

“I do,” she muttered against the wood, pushing back against him, trying to get more of his hand. She could feel his cock, the kidskin of his breeches stretched tight, pushed against her thigh. It warmed her; it made her straighten her back, to know that she could drive a man like that to such a needy state.

“Such a good girl…” His tone was approving. His hand left her slit to soothe over her bare back before finally returning, fingers slipping inside her easily. “One would almost think you’re ready.”

It took her a moment to gather his meaning, but when she did she found herself utterly enticed by the idea. “I am.”

Petyr’s fingers stopped, almost as if he was surprised by her words. When he spoke his voice sounded thick. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

Turning her head, Sansa gazed at him through auburn locks. His face was in awe, eyes locked on hers. The hand at her core remained still, but he had slipped the other into his open breeches, and Sansa could see quite clearly the movement of his fingers.

“I know. I’m not so innocent.” She smiled. Somehow that word, and all the pain that it had carried with it, made her feel lighter, if only because she was distancing herself from that person.

“Sansa…” He seemed utterly undone just by the sensation caused by her words, torn by what she was suggestion. In that moment she had the upper hand. She took control willingly, knowing that it would soon pass.

Standing, she closed the small distance between them and pressed herself against his body, taking his lips into a soft kiss. She could feel the press of his cock between them. One hand gripping his shoulder, the other made its way down, joining his fingers along the shaft. Squeezing gently, Sansa felt his whole frame shudder, and couldn’t help her soft laugh.

“I think you’re ready.” She pulled back to look at him. A challenge, as it were. 

Suddenly Petyr’s hands were on her hips, pushing and lifting her until she sat on his desk. Positioning himself between her legs he held her hard, the thick shaft of his cock—still half in his breeches— pressed against her wet heat. Staring down at her he moved his hips slowly, a delightful pressure that was very much not what she needed.

“It’s not time.” He said, his teeth clenched. “It would spoil it all.”

“Do you not want me?” She tried to keep her voice steady, afraid it would break.

Petyr laughed, and in that moment she realized what an absurd question it was.

“Do I not want you?” He pressed himself forward a bit more, the head of him becoming enveloped in her lips. Sansa nearly gasped at the feeling of being stretched in such a way, the pleasure and the pain.

“I think this is evidence enough,” Petyr continued. He kissed her again, teeth nipping at her, as he continued to rub against her—not penetrating her, but very close to doing so. Sansa could feel her heart beating fast, a small cry leaving her lips when he pulled away suddenly and left her, open and wanting, staring her down.

Stepping back, he began to lace himself again over his still erect cock, his eyes hard. “ _Caution_ , Sansa. Now is not the time. If I can hold back, so can you.”

Without another word he left her, wet and aching, poised on his desk. 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday Ocularis!


End file.
